


Paradise

by wisecrack



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, At least I think it's angst, Hallucinations, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, does that count, in author's notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24661297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisecrack/pseuds/wisecrack
Summary: And then the teasing tones of the electronic keyboard going down the scale tell him they're coming.A look inside the mind of the jounin Kakashi in a murky situation, remembering or being forced to remember things about a person who may or may not mean or had meant anything to him.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka
Kudos: 9





	Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Something somewhere wanted an excuse for vague smut covered in nonsensical images and here is my offering.

“When you right here, I come alive  
One more hit and we can fly  
This shit feel like…”  
\- Bazzi  
  
It’s a memory, he’s having memories on shuffle in his pasta brain. The brain that his father loved, and left. Bit by bit, the memories all falling like leaves onto tender spaghetti-surface mind, one by one feather-soft images alighting of

Iruka looking up from the ground in faded-color tones that cast beautiful cools on his brown skin, the sun glinting on his shiny hitai-ate

Then those images pick up pace and it’s turning into a picture-movie

Running now is Iruka’s hard stomach on display, shirt pulled up to cover his face, each exquisite ab rising and falling; Iruka on his stomach asleep in the moonlight, the curve of the small of his back a mysterious, alluring universe that Kakashi doesn’t mind dipping his tongue into and he does

And it rolls and rolls until Kakashi’s eyes roll into themselves, gorged on the fat, rich, dripping memories that’s got him choking to the brim but he wouldn’t mind just forever leaving his jaw opened wide to receive them down his throat.

All he can remember are the hot nights when his skin somehow glued itself onto Iruka’s with heated sweat and the damp messed up sheets upon which their knees laid in their own kind of prostration to some kind of deity, some deity who delights in their tight union, in eager tongues trying to lick its rival out into the open, in chapped lips sweetly, gently breaking the rivalry, in battle-worn hands sliding their rough palms widely over sweat-drenched, tingly sensitive skin balmed only by swift breezes from the open window…

There’s no other memories of this man but these. Kakashi wishes he were dead.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m restraining myself from being too chatty here. Hellloooo. I doff my bowl to you! Tanks for reading! Yeah I was high when I wrote this. Wish I was a better long-distance runner.


End file.
